


Green and Gold

by Arduinna



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Challenge: Writin' O' The Green, Holiday: stpats, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arduinna/pseuds/Arduinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair comes home to find Jim caught up in the spirit of St. Patrick's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green and Gold

This is my response to the Writin' o' the Green challenge that I issued a while back. Happy St. Patrick's Day! ;) Oh, yeah -- there's one bit in here especially for Leah (vbg). My thanks to my beta readers, Shirl, Tammy, and Katrina! The title is the result of hours of thought and consultation. It was the one that was least bad (g). 

Disclaimer: Pet Fly Productions (and maybe some other people) own them, not me. I'm just borrowing them. No copyright infringement is intended. The songs are taken from a tape of a live Clancy Brothers concert in 1984, and as far as I know no one owns the songs themselves. 

## Green and Gold

by Arduinna Finn  


Blair walked into the loft with a sigh of relief, and Dropped His Keys Into The Basket By The Door. What a day! If one more person had asked him why he wasn't wearing green... not that he didn't enjoy St. Patrick's Day, but come on! Green clothes, green hats, green carnations, green ink, green hair, green beer in the campus pub... Enough was enough. If he didn't see any more green for a month, it would be too soon. All he had wanted by the end of the day was to get home and wait for the right time to show Jim how *he* wanted to celebrate the day. Thinking about Jim's probable reaction to that idea brought a smile to his face, and he started to relax. 

Hearing him come in, Jim called out from the kitchen. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, Chief! Perfect timing; dinner will be ready in a sec, have a seat." 

(oh, no -- not Jim, too! No, calm down; no way would James P. Ellison get as weird about St. Patrick's Day as the people on campus, right? It was just a greeting, nothing more.) 

Having thus reassured himself, he sat down, staring in disbelief at the plate that was placed on the table in front of him. 

"What the hell is that??" 

"Hello, Blair, my day was pretty good, thanks, and yours?" 

"Huh? Sorry. Hi Jim, how was your day, what the hell is that??" Blair's eyes still hadn't left the table. He was afraid to take his eyes off the plate. 

"Scrambled eggs." 

"They're *green*, Jim. Very...bright...green." 

"I know. Isn't it great?" 

"Please tell me there's no ham." 

"Huh?" 

"Green eggs and ham. Please tell me no ham." 

"No ham." 

"Thank god. (deep breath) Why green?" 

"I told you, St. Patrick's Day." 

"I *know* it's St. Patrick's Day. But do we have to have *green* *eggs* for dinner?" 

"Well, I just got home a little while ago myself, Chief, and I was starving. It should be corned beef and cabbage, of course, but eggs cook faster. I picked up some Irish soda bread on the way home, too," he added helpfully, sitting down with his own plate and putting the bread on the table between them. 

With one last suspicious look at the eggs, Blair raised his head, ready to ask Jim what the heck St. Patrick's Day had to do with eggs that looked like they'd been prepared in a Play-Doh kitchen -- and choked at the sight in front of him. Jim Ellison, wearing a t-shirt as bright as the eggs (no, don't think about the eggs) ... wearing a bright green t-shirt with the words "Kiss Me, I'm IRISH!!" blazoned across it in white. 

"Are you okay, Sandburg?" 

"You weren't wearing that out in public today, were you, Jim?" 

Jim glanced down at his chest and grinned. "No, I changed into it when I got home. I wore a green sweater to work. Why? Jealous of the attention I would have gotten?" 

"Nah, just making sure you didn't embarrass yourself," came the breezy -- and relieved -- reply. For one horrible second, Blair had had visions of Jim being accosted by every person he met during the day. 

"Mmm-hmm, right. ...Eat!" Jim urged, digging in to his own plateful. 

"Oh yeah. Right. Eat the green eggs. (the things I do for you...)" 

"I heard that." 

"Sorry." 

"Look, it was a tradition in my house, okay? Every year on St. Patrick's Day we had green eggs." 

"For dinner?" 

"No, for breakfast. But I got called in so early today that I didn't have time for breakfast, remember?" 

"I remember. Thank god. I don't know if I could have faced this first thing in the morning." Calling on years of experience of trying, and enjoying, foods that most Americans would describe as "weird" if they were being kind, Blair took a deep breath, raised a forkful of eggs, and put it in his mouth. A second later, he decided he'd have to do something else, and chewed. 

"It tastes like eggs!" 

"Of course it tastes like eggs, what were you expecting?? It's just food coloring, for heaven's sake." 

Reasonably sure now that dinner wasn't going to kill him, Blair dug in to the eggs and soda bread. Odd mix, but what the hell. "This is good, Jim." 

"Thanks." 

"What's that? I like the melody." 

"Irish music," Jim said with a wry grin. "That was traditional growing up, too. Just wouldn't feel like St. Patrick's Day without it." 

"Hey, that's cool, can I turn it up? I want to hear the lyrics." 

"Sure, go ahead. I wasn't sure you'd like it; it's not exactly your style, you know." 

Blair headed to the stereo. "What are you talking about? I like Irish music! Clannad, Altan, Tempest, U2, Black 47..." 

"The Clancy Brothers," Jim said just as Blair reached the stereo. 

"Who are..." Blair began as he turned up the volume, then fell silent as the next song started. He stared at the stereo, then moved back to the table, still not saying a word, listening intently. The music was bright, with a cheerful beat. There was even a banjo in there somewhere -- he had a brief memory of a Steve Martin skit, about the banjo being the most cheerful instrument in the world. This was clearly a recording of a live concert, and the audience seemed to be really enjoying the song. 

But the lyrics... mechanically, Blair went back to eating, listening to every word. 

> __  
> Look at the coffin  
>  With golden handles  
>  Isn't it grand, boys  
>  To be bloody well dead
> 
> Let's not have a sniffle  
>  Let's have a bloody good cry  
>  And always remember  
>  The longer you live, the sooner you bloody well die
> 
> Look at the mourners  
>  Bloody great hypocrites  
>  Isn't it grand, boys  
>  To be bloody well dead
> 
> Let's not have a sniffle  
>  Let's have a bloody good cry  
>  And always remember  
>  The longer you live, the sooner you bloody well die
> 
> Look at the flowers  
>  All bloody withered  
>  Isn't it grand, boys  
>  To be bloody well dead
> 
> Let's not have a sniffle  
>  Let's have a bloody good cry  
>  And always remember  
>  The longer you live, the sooner you bloody well die
> 
> Look at the preacher  
>  Bloody sanctimonious  
>  Isn't it grand boys  
>  To be bloody well dead
> 
> Let's not have a sniffle  
>  Let's have a bloody good cry  
>  And always remember  
>  The longer you live, the sooner you bloody well die
> 
> Look at the widow  
>  Bloody great female  
>  Isn't it grand, boys  
>  To be bloody well dead
> 
> Let's not have a sniffle  
>  Let's have a bloody good cry  
>  And always remember  
>  The longer you live, the sooner you bloody well die

The audience applauded enthusiastically as the song ended. Blair gaped at Jim. "They're not all like that, are they?" 

"Nah. Some of them are depressing." 

Blair couldn't tell if Jim was teasing or not, and listened with some trepidation to the next song to come on, but it was completely different. Something about making moonshine up in the mountains of Ireland. He relaxed, and stopped paying much attention to the lyrics, just enjoying the music. 

Dinner over, they brought the dishes into the kitchen and started cleaning up. Blair darted back out into the living room to turn the stereo higher so he could hear it over the running water. Jim grinned at him when he returned. "They kinda grow on you, don't they?" he asked cheerfully. 

"Yeah, a bit," Blair agreed, returning the grin. He hopped up to sit on the counter, grabbing a towel and a plate and drying it energetically. He worked his way through most of the stack before suddenly cocking his head and saying, "Oh, hey, this one's good!" He put down the towel to concentrate, hands gripping the edge of the counter so he wouldn't fall off as he leaned forward. After listening to the song for a minute, he started joining in on the chorus. 

> __  
> "And it's no, nay, never (clap clap clap clap)  
>  No nay never no more  
>  That I'll play the wild rover  
>  No never no more"

The song ended with Blair, The Clancy Brothers, and the audience all singing the chorus at the top of their lungs and clapping for all they were worth, with Blair kicking his heels against the cabinets for good measure. Jim was leaning back against the counter next to Blair, laughing. 

Blair mock-glared at him, muttering "depressing, hah!" under his breath. Jim swung around and settled himself between Blair's legs, catching him up in a hug, nibbling gently on his ear. "I said *some* of them were depressing, not all of them," he pointed out. Blair wrapped his legs around Jim, holding him securely. 

"Mmm. Well, that's true, I guess. Okay, you're forgiven. *Ouch*! Okay, maybe 'forgiven' isn't the word I'm looking for... ooooohh, yeah, there. Don't stop." 

Jim had licked the wounded ear in apology for the sharpness of the bite, and was now licking delicately around the edge of his ear, sending shivers running through Blair. 

"Better?" Jim breathed softly, reaching one hand up to tangle in Blair's curls and the other down to cup his ass, kneading gently. Blair tilted himself forward, balancing on the edge of the counter, to give him better access. 

"Oh, yeah, much better," Blair sighed. His hands trailed around Jim's sides to his back and started stroking along the hard muscles, feeling the heat rising through the cotton. Nice, but not quite what he was looking for. Impatiently, he reached down and lifted Jim's shirt up, flattening his hands against hot skin with a soft murmur of appreciation. Keeping the pressure firm, he resumed stroking, covering every inch he could reach. He could feel himself starting to get hard already, and tightened his legs to pull Jim closer, smiling when he felt the answering nudge against him. 

Jim started expanding his attentions, licking a wet trail down Blair's neck, then blowing cool air over it. Blair shivered again; that move got him every time. Retaliating, he lifted his palms away from Jim's back until only his fingertips touched the skin, and those just barely -- and started drawing them across the surface ever so lightly. Jim arched like a cat, helplessly attuned to the touch, his head dropping to Blair's shoulder. Blair grinned triumphantly, remembering the night they'd discovered that an aroused Jim would automatically turn up the dial on his skin receptors if Blair lightened his touch past a certain point. He didn't want Jim to zone out, though, so he gradually started applying more pressure. 

Jim lifted his head, looking dazed, and Blair promptly kissed him. Jim seemed to think that was a good idea. They lost themselves in each other's mouths for a few minutes, tasting and teasing, until Jim drew back with a gasp. 

"Upstairs. Bed." 

Blair tightened his legs around Jim's butt again, pulling him in as close as possible, and murmured, "Here is good." 

"Here is *not* good. Remember what happened last time?" 

"Oh. Yeah. So, bed. Bed is good. We can do that." Carefully putting away the memory of what had happened the last time they had let one of these countertop hugs get too intense, Blair turned his best puppy-eyes on Jim. "Carry me?" he asked sweetly, drooping against the bigger man's chest. 

"Remember last time?" 

"Oh. Yeah. I'll walk, how's that?" 

"Walking is good," Jim agreed. 

They untangled themselves and started moving toward the stairs. Jim let Blair go ahead of him on the stairs, reaching out to run one finger teasingly along the seam of his jeans. Blair stopped dead, one hand against the wall, and said warningly, "Remember last time?" 

Jim took his hand away. "Sorry." 

"Okay. We can do this. Just a few more steps, and we're safe, right?" 

"Right." 

Finally they made it upstairs, with nary a bump, bruise, contusion, or concussion between them. They shared a triumphant smile, and Jim reached for Blair again, who backed away. 

"What?" 

"I want to watch you undress," Blair said simply, sitting on the bed, never taking his eyes off his lover. 

Jim caught his breath at the expression in Blair's eyes, and silently began stripping. T-shirt first, with Blair's appreciative gaze noting every contour and muscle. Then his jeans, carefully unzipped. As Jim pulled the jeans off, Blair's gaze roamed downward, drinking in the familiar sight of his lover's boxer-clad hips. 

Jim's head snapped up at the sound of Blair's muffled squeak. 

"What???" 

"What are *those*????" Blair would've pointed, but he was afraid that if he let go of the edges of the bed he'd fall off. 

"You like 'em?" 

"Jim, man, you know I love you, but..." 

"What's wrong with 'em?" 

"Nothing. It's just... I never quite had you figured as the kind of guy who'd wear floral boxers." 

"They're not *flowers*, Sandburg -- they're shamrocks!" 

"Shamrocks. On your underwear." 

"Yeah, shamrocks. It's St...." 

"Patrick's Day, I know. Is that one in the middle pretending to be a fig leaf? Cause I gotta tell you, man, it wouldn't do the job," Blair teased. 

Jim laughed, and stripped out of the shamrock boxers. Blair unconsciously licked his lips as Jim's erection sprang free. 

"Your turn, Chief," Jim said, moving toward the bed. "You're a bit overdressed." He sank onto the bed beside Blair and reached for the younger man's shirt, pulling it off of him impatiently. He leaned down to lick one nipple as his hands moved to Blair's jeans. Blair was slowly leaning backward, first onto his elbows and then onto his back, as Jim continued to lavish attention on his nipples, licking and sucking. Blair moaned. 

Jim got the jeans undone, and sat up to pull them off. "C'mon, Chief, lift up for a sec," he urged. Blair obediently lifted his hips, his eyes still half shut. Jim stripped the jeans off and stopped dead, staring. Blair was wearing boxers with rainbows on them. 

"Rainbows??" 

Blair opened his eyes and smiled warmly at his lover. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, Jim. Why don't you see what's waiting for you at the end of the rainbow?" 

Jim's hand stroked along the front of the boxers, feeling the erection within jump at the touch, and grinned. "I have a pretty good idea, Chief," he said smugly. 

"Yeah? 

"Yeah. Lift!" Blair lifted, and Jim pulled the boxers off. His eyes went huge at the sight that greeted him: Blair, erect and gold. Jim reached out a tentative finger to touch. Blair's cock jumped again. 

"What's the matter, Jim? Didn't anyone ever tell you that there's gold at the end of the rainbow?" Blair was grinning, thoroughly pleased with himself. It had definitely been worth the fear that someone would find him in his office as he waited for the body paint to dry just before heading home. 

"What...?" 

"Body paint. *Edible* body paint." 

"Edible? Edible..." Jim leaned forward and carefully licked the head of Blair's cock, lifting a startled face to his young lover. "It's banana! I like banana..." Jim returned to Blair's cock, licking up and down the shaft, swirling his tongue around the head. Blair moaned, his hips started to thrust upward. 

Taking the hint, Jim closed his lips around the head, then slowly went down on Blair, relaxing his throat muscles to take him all the way. Blair moaned again, and Jim barely got a grip on his hips to hold him still before he tried to buck. Jim worked him expertly, pushing him higher and higher until Blair was whimpering with the need for release. 

"Please, god, Jim, please, please..." 

Jim pulled back to the top of Blair's cock, wrapping his fist firmly around the base, and began sucking the head steadily while his fist pumped the shaft. Blair bucked, hard, and came with a scream, pouring into Jim's mouth. Jim swallowed as fast as he could, savoring this most beloved of tastes, mixed faintly with banana, until Blair's body collapsed back into the mattress. 

With a last kiss on the tip, Jim released Blair's rapidly softening cock, grinning as he realized there wasn't a trace of body paint left on it anywhere. 

"You okay, Chief?" he asked gently, moving up to cuddle Blair in his arms. 

"Okay? Yeah. Yeah, you could say I'm okay. Man..." Blair stumbled into silence, still breathing like a bellows. As his panting slowed, he realized that Jim had been doing all the work. "Jim?" 

"Yeah?" came the abstracted reply. Jim was busy tracing patterns in Blair's chest hair. 

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" 

Blair reached down to wrap a hand around Jim's still very evident erection, and squeezed gently. "Looks like you could use a little something, big guy. What do you want?" 

"You. I want to be inside you." 

Blair sucked in his breath. Jim's face and voice were gentle, but his eyes were almost feral. Blair could feel the first faint stirrings in his cock again; Jim wasn't zoned, he was *totally* focused on him, Blair. Nothing else existed for Jim right then. 

"Oh, yeah, Jim." 

Jim growled softly, "Stay right there, don't move." He rolled over and reached into the nightstand for lube and a condom. He rolled the condom on with fingers that were only shaking a little bit, then squeezed lube out onto his fingers. Blair pulled his knees up and apart, and Jim started massaging lube around his anus, then slipped one finger inside. Blair moaned. Jim gently started stretching him, adding a second finger as soon as Blair was ready. 

"Jim, please," Blair begged. "Now!" 

Jim groaned at the desperate tone in Blair's voice, and withdrew his fingers. Positioning himself carefully, he pushed slowly forward into tight heat. 

"Oh, God," gasped two voices in unison. 

"God, Blair, you're perfect," Jim breathed, and started to thrust. Blair wrapped his legs around Jim, pulling him in tight on every downthrust. Jim leaned forward onto his elbows, sliding his hands under Blair's shoulders, and started licking Blair's chest, tasting his sweat, breathing in his scent, listening to his heart pound -- letting himself get lost in the reality of Blair. He trailed his mouth upward, capturing Blair's lips with his before moving on to cover his whole face with licks and kisses, body lowered to rub against Blair. 

"Oh, man, Jim, yeah, that's it, harder, come on, harder," panted Blair. The feel of Jim inside him, the hard abdomen rubbing against his cock, the knowledge that he was Jim's entire world for the moment, all conspired to bring him back erect and aching. Then Jim started licking his ear, and Blair couldn't hold back any more; he came shouting Jim's name. 

Jim was teetering on the edge, and the sensation of Blair's muscles contracting around him was too much. He let out a low cry as he came, and collapsed on top of Blair. They just lay there for a minute, stuck together, panting. 

"Jim," Blair wheezed. "Big guy? Jim?" 

Jim slowly raised his head, looking into Blair's rapidly reddening face. He blinked, then murmured a quick apology as he rolled off the smaller man, pulling Blair into his arms to cuddle him. 

A flash of color caught Jim's eye, and he leaned over Blair to study the rainbow boxers for a minute, then turned to look at Blair, who was looking very smug indeed. 

"Rainbows. I still can't believe you wore rainbows." 

"Hey, man, just because I didn't wear a green shirt today didn't mean I didn't have plans to celebrate the holiday in style, you know? Besides, rainbows are me," he added with an oddly shy grin. 

Jim got a very suspicious look on his face at that little comment. "Oh? Just what does that mean, Chief?" 

"What's the P stand for? Peter, Paul, Philip?" 

"What? It stands for Patrick, and why are you changing the subject?" 

"I'm not. You ever wonder what the R in my name stands for?" 

"Huh?" 

"Blair R. Sandburg. You ever wonder about the R?" 

"Hell, Chief, I don't know; I guess I always just assumed it was Richard or Robert or something." 

"Not exactly." 

"Look, Chief, what does this have to do with why you were wearing... 'Rainbow'?? Your name is 'Rainbow'??" Jim went into hysterics as quietly as he could, which wasn't very. Blair waited patiently for him to calm down a bit. "Oh, god, Blair, I'm sorry, but... Rainbow?" and Jim was off again, gurgling with laughter, flopping onto his back. 

Resigned, Blair cuddled up against him, smiling as Jim automatically wrapped an arm around him to hold him close. Once he had realized that his relationship with Jim was *the* relationship, that he'd be with this man forever, he had known that he would have to tell him about Naomi's rather unique choice of names eventually, and this was far and away the best way he could think of. 

Blair raised himself up to look down into Jim's still chuckling face, and stroked one hand down the strong jaw, smiling. Softly, he sang, "And it's no, nay, never; no nay never no more, that I'll play the wild rover, no never no more." "I love you, Jim." 

"I love you too, Rainbow."  
  


* * *

My thanks to my friend Shirl for the idea about Blair's rainbow boxers. (g) Also to Kim for thinking of "Patrick" as a middle name for Jim, and to whoever thought of "Rainbow" for Blair (I'm sorry, I don't remember who it was; I didn't make a note of it, because I never expected to use it!)  
  


* * *

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